Game Over strikes as much as you finally get out of the place of a person that has been sucking you too long. Damien Musto does not rant with anger, he allows the hurt to develop slowly, the manner in which damage comes to light days after the first hit. That construction of whisper to roar is like being in an empty room after everybody has gone and realizing that the performance was not about you at all.
The guitar comes in ethereal and haunting, and scampering over the percussion like the clouds in the dark. It has Garden State rock heritage running through it--heartland emotion and broad soundscapes--but Musto puts it through a grinder until it comes out very personal and cutting. Another layer turns out to be another unwanted memory that is to be recalled, something that cannot be ignored no matter how much you would love to.
That nakedness is almost too harsh to forget the point when I realized that a relationship was transactional. Musto presents it as though he is doing it to a person who is collecting his weapons without him ever having drawn blood. When the set ultimately explodes it is no longer fury, but freeing. Such as leaving behind a place that has been holding you as a ransom and breathing in something other than smoke.
Produced with meticulous touches, Game Over comes with the insight into a person that has shared a stage with legends and played in front of thousands, but realizes that people who are the nearest to you can hurt you the most. It is gut-throbbing, filmic, and violently forthright - the type of song that makes you stay in the driveway sitting still at the end of the day as the last chord continues to hang in the air like a sentence. Damien Musto has set his limit. I completely stand with him.
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